


Choke

by gingersmitten



Category: Street Fighter
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Dungeon, Gay Sex, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Rape, Torture, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11983767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersmitten/pseuds/gingersmitten
Summary: Ken Masters gets a little too cheeky with Vega (Balrog) and gets himself in trouble.  The pleasures and torments of this Spanish aristocrat's dungeon awaits him...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I wrote this for Halloween and posted it on Y-gal, but since it went down I'm doing a bit of a dump of my work here. What follows involves some moderate BDSM involving Ken and Vega, no gore or anything I promise. I also decided to include TWO endings, one mild and one dark, since I couldn't decide how to end this “officially,” so you get to choose!
> 
> Will post the ending soon.

A warm breeze gusted along the balcony, and the chill it carried promised a cold night. The marble railing was still warm beneath Vega's fingertips, and the contrast sent a tingle along his spine. He sighed as he took in the Lleida countryside. This was always the most beautiful time of the year, with autumn beginning to encroach upon summer and the foliage waiting to turn. Twilight in particular brought out a predatory mood in him.

Bit by bit the horizon nibbled away at the setting sun with a patient hunger, the mountains a jagged set of fangs with which it snared its prey. The last rays of gold faded as the sun died against the rocks, its blood spraying out over the sky in a broad fan of crimson streaks. Already darkness was lapping up the remnants, birthing stars in its wake.

Vega swirled the glass of wine in one hand and took a whiff. A fine Bordeaux, with fruity notes and just a whisper of oak. With a generous sip he let the wine play on his tongue, swallowing just as he heard the steady footsteps of his butler.

“Master Vega,” Antoni said with a slight bow, the lilting Catalan accent adding a sweetness that matched his features. He held out a bundle of neatly-wrapped silk. “Your guest is ready for you.”

“Thank you, Antoni. I'll see to him.” A smile quirked at his lips as Antoni bowed again and left. He really was a handsome one, with his smooth features and slicked-back hair. He was getting up in years, but he still won the hearts of many a woman. Vega loved to collect pretty things after all, and that included the staff for the manor.

Wine glass still in hand and the package under his arm, Vega strode into the corridor and down the stairs.

One would correctly presume that the master of this manor was a narcissistic one, given that the walls were decked with his personal portraits. There were gentlemanly depictions, where he stood with back straight and eyes staring out into the distance, his shirt ruffled with lace. There were older paintings of Vega as a child, where the artist had captured his boredom at sitting in a chair for so long. Others still displayed him in his matador garb, one foot canted out, the _muleta_ held in the crook of his arm in a heroic fashion.

Yet the one painting that belied this shrine to his vanity was the one that hung in the main gallery, before the great staircase to the second floor. There, where should've hung his finest portrait, was instead a small painting of a pretty young woman. The artist's skill was unremarkable: though he did capture her features well, the background had only the barest amount of detail. Perhaps the painter hadn't wanted to draw attention away from the true subject of his work, though still the piece seemed merely half-finished.

And yet it was the single most precious thing in the manor.

Finally Vega reached the library. The servants kept the place tidy, and though the shelves and books were free of dust, most had been otherwise untouched for years. Many had been bought by his father: thick tomes on history, philosophy and literature, more to present the facade of an erudite upbringing rather than to entertain any actual interest.

Only one book interested Vega for the moment: “Pride and Prejudice,” once his mother's favorite. Pressing it in nudged a button hidden in the back, and with a click the entire shelf turned as Vega pulled, revealing a spiral staircase that led downward, deep beneath the manor.

The deepest dungeon was hidden behind three heavy iron doors, each with its own combination lock. The hinges of each door squealed harshly as it opened, the echoes audible to the occupant deep within. Each shriek of metal-on-metal heralded Vega's coming, meant to further build on the terror of his new pet.

Finally, Vega slammed the last door shut and stepped into the cell.

The brick walls were studded with stout metal rings, anchoring finger-thick ropes which arced towards the ceiling and dangled from pulleys. Those black nylon cords hung like the trailing ends of a broken web, dangling over the naked form of a milk-skinned, golden-haired young man.

“Hello, my little _gatito_.”

Ken Masters looked up at Vega through red-rimmed eyes, half-lidded and still sensitive to the light. He knelt, bent over as if prostrating himself: the leather collar so tight around his neck had been chained to the ground, forcing him to bow before his captor. The moment the door opened Ken tried to sit up straight-backed by instinct. The clack of thick metal links punctuated the jolt that ran through his neck and rattled his teeth. A grimace twisted his features.

The boy had taken plenty of blows to the head in the fight. His ribs must've ached from the beating as well, yet he heaved his shoulders side to side, testing the leather cords that bound his wrists behind his back.

Though the velvet lining of the collar was soft against his skin, his flesh had nonetheless been rubbed raw in his earlier struggles. A crust of dried saliva stained his chin, remnants of the dribbles that leaked past the black bar gag between his teeth. Ken's chest heaved and his stomach clenched, abdominal muscles drawing taut beneath milky skin.

Vega had sliced away the young warrior's _gi_ himself. Sponge-washing the sweat and stink from his new pet was the servant's job, but ah... the knife! That was an experience in itself: feeling the body go tense and still beneath his blades, nervous sweat dripping from the lad's brow as scarlet cloth was sliced away in sheets. Even one who had put up as much of a fight as Ken had wouldn't struggle too much once honed steel licked along his flesh, almost close enough to draw blood.

Vega had only marred the boy once he was drugged and unconscious, and though the Spaniard wanted his pet to feel every pinprick and every cut, the mark would've been spoiled if Ken were awake. That tasteful little tattoo on his hip, a serpent coiled around a rose, branded the kitten as Vega's property.

Yet if Ken was ashamed at being stripped naked or furious at being marked like an animal his eyes at least didn't show it. Only willful stubbornness burned in his gaze, and if he hadn't been forced to crane his neck forward by the chain he would've appeared as if he were simply kneeling in a dojo.

Vega still held the wine glass in his hand, and he knelt as he spoke. “Would you like a drink? It's been two days... I imagine you must be quite thirsty.”

The young warrior nodded.

Reaching behind Ken's head to undo the clasp, Vega pulled the bar-gag from his mouth. Ken swallowed, licking his lips with a parched tongue as Vega swirled the wine gently.

The young fighter shuffled towards Vega, knees and toes scraping against stone, skin gray and grimy with dust. The chain clinked as he moved, until it drew taut with a heavy _clack_. Craning his neck, Ken whimpered as he tried to reach the glass.

“Ah how uncouth...” Vega chuckled, “No no no... you do not drink it just yet. Breathe in the scent first... enjoy the bouquet and all its complexities.”

Ken grimaced, but his nose twitched as he gave the wine a sniff. He was aching with thirst, and had no other choice. Desperate as he was to wet his parched throat he played along.

“Now drink, lovely boy...”

His lips gripping the rim of the glass, Ken downed the wine in heavy, desperate gulps. Dark red droplets tricked from the corner of his lips, and he huffed and sputtered as he drank. Once he swallowed the last drop Ken pulled away, coughing wetly.

“Hmph. Not an ounce of sophistication in you Americans,” Vega chided.

“F-fuck that...” Ken wheezed. He managed to give a lopsided grin from the corner of his mouth, “I've got simpler tastes.”

“Mmm, yes. I've heard much talk about you in town. Quite the tomcat, as I understand it.”

Ken coughed to clear his throat, and taking a deep breath he spoke again. The cocksure grin never left his lips. “Y-yeah... you jealous?”

“I am a gentleman,” Vega said coldly, “I do not pluck the innocence of smitten young girls like unripened fruit.”

“Really?” Ken panted, “They told me they liked the plucking.”

Vega's lips thinned. He could feel the urge inside him, the hunger to draw blood with his talons and watch cold metal sink into warm, yielding flesh. He could almost hear Ken's cute little screams, his hot, desperate wails as his warm vitality spilled from him and cooled against the stones. The chains would rattle, sweaty fingers would grip tight as grimy toes twisted into the concrete floor. Slowly the struggles would taper off, the shrieks would quiet into soft whimpers, and the last dying twitches of what was left would rattle the chains one last time before all was quiet.

The boy was a tough one, Vega mused. How long could this cheeky little pup last if he took his time? Two days? Maybe three? He flushed with excitement at the thought.

“Such a mouth on you. Even now you're impudent.”

“I thought...” Ken swallowed, still slightly hoarse, “I thought we were just havin' a friendly conversation here.”

“You have no right to speak to me as an equal, _mi gatito._ ”

“Don't think I'm one of your country peasants, man. My dad has a nicer mansion than this. And a yacht. No dungeon though, cuz he ain't a sick bastard.”

“ _Noveau-riche_ obviously, and as usual without any class. I'd be surprised if you could trace your bloodline back a hundred years. Americans!” Vega sneered, shaking his head. “So little regard for history. For tradition or art. I'm shocked that you have so much arrogance as to leap into the bullring, yet so little self-respect that you'd fight in those tawdry rags.”

“I hate being ignored.”

It was true that the whelp had sent multiple letters of challenge, each folded in the Japanese tradition in which he'd been trained. The chicken-scratch handwriting had been barely legible, and Vega had tossed each letter into the trash in disgust. When those missives failed Ken had even tried barreling past his bodyguards, shouting out taunts and jeers, proclaiming Vega a coward for not facing him. Rumor had it that he spent his boredom and frustration on the young girls in town, as if to prove that his American arrogance and sense of entitlement were a match for Spanish courtliness in the art of seduction. Worse still, it appeared that more often than not it had worked.

True, a little investigation had shown that the young American had won a few tournaments in the States: crass, commercialized affairs with sponsor's logos splashed against the sides of the ring. Vega would not debase himself by accepting a challenge from this uncultured colonial dog. It was only after his recent fight in the bullring that Ken had leaped from the stands and shouted a challenge in full public view. An outsider defiling the _Plaza de Toros_ had been the last straw.

They'd fought the next day.

Ken had come to the ring thinking to fight a matador, or perhaps a swordsman unskilled in the art of hand-to-hand brawling. Perhaps he'd come thinking to fight a spoiled son of nobility, pampered by tutors and having only ever faced opponents who would feign defeat to curry favor.

Ken hadn't expected a Shadaloo assassin: agile as a spider, swift as a serpent, merciless as a predator.

“It is time you learned your place, pretty boy...” Vega purred, his voice carrying the same sultry tone it did when he was either making love or slitting throats.

In one swift motion Vega shattered the wine glass against the floor, and swung the jagged edge in a quick, clean slice across Ken's cheek.

“Ah!” Ken yelped, pulling away as droplets of blood sprayed into the air. “F-fuck!”

Tossing the remaining stem aside, Vega knelt down. Ken had curled in on himself, as if to protect his body against any further cuts. Yet with a gentle hand the Spaniard cupped his chin, lifting the whelp's eyes to meet his. Whatever panic in Ken's eyes had faded quickly, and his brows furrowed in hot, sharp anger.

“Y-YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!” Ken snarled, “Untie me and fucking face me again!”

“As much as I would love to humble you with another thrashing, we are beyond that now. If you learned nothing from the first beating, you will learn nothing from a second. Here I will teach you how low you are, how far beneath me. For the rest of your short life in here, you will call me Master. I will call you _gatito_ , because you shall be my kitten. Think of the name as a razor's edge: a clean way of cutting the old from the new.”

“Bullshit! If you're so fucking noble you face me like a man! You fucking cheated climbing the walls like tha-”

The backhand sent a resounding _crack_ through the chamber and silenced Ken's impudence.

For a moment Vega admired the specks of blood that dotted his knuckles. So red. So vibrant. He licked those salty drops from his skin with a sultry moan. Ah, so sweet...

Finally Ken was looking up at his master with the appropriate amount of fear in his eyes. The gash was shallow, and would heal with barely a scar if treated right, yet it was deep enough to drive home the point that his flesh was at another man's mercy.

“Y-you're f-f-fucking insane...”

“As I said,” Vega continued, brushing away the remaining glass shards with a sweep of his foot. He knelt down then, and undid the wrappings of the bundle at his feet. “You shall have a new life down here, _gatito_. A short one, and very unpleasant for you. But by the end you shall feel complete.”

“Wh-what...”

“It is time to meet your new family,” Vega murmured, the excitement hot in his voice. He withdrew a long knife, and Ken shuddered at the memory of its cold serrated edge grazing his skin as it sliced away his _gi_.

“This shall be your mother, who lays your secrets bare. You already know her well.”

He raised a hammer and twirled it, showing its heft. “Your father, a strict disciplinarian. You will not forget the lessons he teaches you.”

A flat trowel was next, The pattern of the metal had been warped by heat, glistening with iridescent ripples and marred by old scorch marks. “Your sister, devoted to the hearth. You shall feel the true depth of her warmth.”

A pair of stout pliers this time. Its head clacked sharply, its jaws hard and unyielding. “Your brother, hot-tempered and competitive, who shall prove his worth as a man by diminishing yours.”

A heavy leather belt then, slim yet glistening with metal studs. “Your lover, who shall caress every inch of your flesh and brand her passion deep into your bones.”

“Don't... don't you fucking get near me with those!” Ken snarled, a hiccup spoiling his bravado only a little.

“And finally, an old friend...” Vega sighed, lifting a band of black cloth. It was Ken's _obi_ , hard-earned from years of studying under a wizened old master. An angry sneer peeled Ken's lips back, revealing the points of pearly-white teeth.

“My, my... that got your blood boiling. And here I thought you were just about to piss yourself in terror,” Vega laughed. “Yes... I do believe we shall start off with this then.” He held out the full length, twisting the tough linen in his hands.

“You shall see that I am a kind master when I wish to be. For now this _obi_ of yours will be the only thing I allow you to wear. Now let us see what you look like with this rag on you...” Vega began to undo Ken's leather collar.

For only a moment Ken continued to keel: his head bowed, waist-length blond hair spilling down one shoulder. His golden bangs obscured his eyes, further giving him an appearance of terrified meekness.

Once that moment was gone, Ken leaped at his captor with a hot, wild cry, teeth seeking the nape of Vega's neck.

Yet in an instant Vega was on his feet, sidestepping the attack with an acrobatic grace. In the same fluid motion he'd whipped the _obi_ forward with the agility of a matador brandishing his _muleta_ , and snapped the belt around Ken's neck. A sweep of his foot completed the motion, knocking Ken's legs out from under him so that he fell flat on his face with a grunt.

Ken yowled when Vega slammed the edge of his heel into his spine, and with both hands gripping a free end of that _obi_ the Spaniard pulled back with a sharp tug. That loop of black linen tightened around Ken's throat and yanked his head back, and that howl of pain softened into the gurgles of a throat being constricted.

“Did you truly think I would give you such an opening, sweetling?” Vega chuckled, grinding his heel into Ken's back even harder. He was bearing most of his weight down now, pinning his victim's body against the concrete, pulling the boy's neck back with his own belt. Grimy toes scraped desperately against the floor, tears trickled down milk-white cheeks. Ken's mouth opened to speak, but all that came out was a soft hiss.

“I am an assassin, _gatito_. I've killed mothers as their children watched, slew fathers who begged mercy for the sake of their families. I've cut down the rare incorruptible politician, snuffed the lives of drug lords, sliced out the hearts of kingpins who were too filthy for this world. Grand old masters, proud young warriors too foolish to know their own limits... it's all the same twitches and rattling breaths in the end.”

A soft whine escaped Ken's lips as that makeshift garotte tightened even further, and his bare feet scrambled desperately against the ground in his futile attempts to scoot out from under his tormenter's boot. His body heaved back and forth in his struggles, yet all Vega had to do was grind further into Ken's spine.

“Do you truly think you are anything special?” Vega laughed. “Perhaps you are. I do collect trophies... particularly from the pretty ones.”

Shifting both ends of the belt to one hand, Vega reached up to grab one of the cables that hung from the ceiling. Looping the _obi_ through the metal ring at the end of the cord, he tied off a solid knot and tugged both ends to test its sturdiness. He smiled in satisfaction... the bonds wouldn't slip for what he was about to do.

Ken coughed as Vega lifted his heel. Wheezing for breath he climbed up onto his feet, knees buckling inward, swaying back and forth as if drunk.

“Y-you sadistic freak!” he wheezed.

Vega smiled as he unhooked the end of the cord from the wall and began to pull.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, _gatito_.”

The pulleys squeaked overhead as the cable retracted with Vega's slow, even tugs. Ken's jaw clenched as he felt the gentle pull of the black _obi_. That mark of his skill as a warrior, both simple adornment and a mark of pride, was now a noose around his throat. He shuffled around on bare feet as the belt tightened, the steady pull of that linen band against his windpipe forcing him to spin and turn, padding about to minimize the pressure.

Finally, centered just beneath the pulley, all he could do then was perch on the balls of his feet and whine, grimacing as his shoulders worked desperately to loosen his wrist-bonds. Strangled huffs and gagging sounds filled the air as Vega tied off the rope around a metal hook on the wall, the figure-eight loop solid and incapable of slipping.

Turning back to his prey, Vega strode forward slowly, heels clicking against the stones in sharp contrast to the dull little grunts that escaped Ken's throat.

“You should begin to feel a heat flooding into your face even as your cheeks begin to go numb. You've toughened up your feet in your training, so it'll take a bit longer for your toes to start aching. Yet they will become increasingly tender as time goes on, like a bruise that reaches all the way to the bone.” Vega murmured, tracing a circle along the plane of Ken's chest with the impeccably manicured tip of his fingernail. “The initial shock is disorienting, I know, and you didn't believe it at first. Yet it's beginning to seem truly real, isn't it? What I'm about to do to you.”

“S-s-stop...” Ken hissed. A cold sweat had begun to bead on his skin, dripping along his taut, trembling calves.

Vega's hand moved lower, and Ken flinched as his touch, like the kiss of an autumn breeze, drew slowly along his thigh. It slid inward, towards the midline of Ken's body.

“Hnrgh! HNRGH!” the panicked grunts grew shrill as Vega's cold, slim fingers wrapped around Ken's nutsack. His knee twitched, and his foot lifted from the concrete momentarily as if about to kick at his captor. Yet just as quickly he planted his toes back onto the floor as he began to twist about wildly from the noose.

Ken's scrotum was tight around his berries in the cool air of the dungeon. Vega rolled those jewels in their taut little pouch until his prisoner's flesh seemed to melt at the warmth of his touch. Soon those two firm robin's-egg balls were rolling between his fingers, tugged away from the snug crevice of the lad's thighs.

“My, my... they feel fuller than I'd expected. And here I thought you'd have rutted like a dog before our match,” Vega said with an icy smile. “A few days of abstinence before our fight, yes? Preserve a little extra testosterone for increased vigor in our battle? I honestly didn't expect you to have even a smidgen of self-control.”

“Wh- what are you...?” Ken wheezed.

“What do I plan to do to your manhood? For now, nothing...” Vega mused, running a finger along the ridge of Ken's scrotum. A fresh shudder ran through his prey's body, from the pleasure of the touch mingling with the morbid shame that he felt such. “But do not forget, _gatito_... it could be one of the bull's ears, it could be both, while a true master can claim its tail as well. Whatever it shall be, a _matador_ lives to claim trophies...”

With a furious grunt Ken kicked out, trying to hook a leg around Vega's body. Yet with little purchase from which to push himself off Vega dodged easily, leaving Ken to twist and scramble about on his toes like an insect snared on a strand of spidersilk.

“Still have plenty of spunk, eh?” Vega chuckled, kneeling down to pick up the strap, “More fun to be had, then...”

Ken gritted his teeth, chest thrust forward as he stood perched like that. That lazy swagger and loping walk the American had were gone now. With the noose tight around his neck he stood straight-backed and stiff, the slightest hint of slouching would leave him strangling on his _obi_. His tense calves quivered, and he sucked in sharp, nervous breaths as his eyes followed Vega. With a cold smile the Spaniard circled around his pet, eying every clenched muscle and trembling curve.

It came like the crack of lightning, the belt slicing against Ken's milk-white curves. Ken gasped, recoiling from the blow. He lost his footing as he flinched, and falling forward he gagged as the belt pressed into his throat. The knuckles of his toes scraped against the concrete, and he turned and spun wildly, kicking as his feet tried to find the ground again. It took a small eternity to steady himself, but once he did he was once more perching on the balls of his feet. A fresh layer of nervous sweat coated his cheeks, and his eyes were damp, his vision blurred with tears. His swallowed hard, and that lump seemed to stick in his throat for a moment: a hard little pebble that had to squeeze past the strangling black _obi_.

“Y-you fucker...” Ken whispered.

“You are very pretty,” Vega murmured, drawing his fingers delicately along the strap.

Ken tensed the moment Vega swung his arm back, and this time he was prepared. Yet even as he tensed himself for the blow, the boy let out a sharp whine as the belt cracked against his chest.

The swings came one after another, with the merciless grace of a practiced hand. Ken's strangled whimpers filled the air, a tender wailing between the sharp sound of the belt cutting against his skin. He padded about on his toes, turning and swaying with the delicate steps of a bird. All throughout Vega would circle his prey, noting the creamy sweat-soaked skin that lay between the pink welts. He snapped the leather between his hands, cracked the tip against the floor to drive the terror home. Oh it'd been a while since he'd had such a lovely pet to toy with, but he remembered the heft of the belt, the proper angle of the wrist, the subtle tugs and turns so that end would snap against the body with the force of a stabbing blade.

“ _Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!_ ” Ken wheezed. The tears flowed freely now, and his pain-filled eyes seemed to stare into a misty nothingness as he took the blows one by one.

“Do you feel it, _mi gatito_?” Vega purred, “The bite of the leather, the way the metal studs crack deep into that pretty hide of yours? You'll be wearing a coat of black and blue by the time I'm done, though if you truly think red is your color I can oblige...”

“Y-you... bastard...” Ken whimpered even as he wept. “You fucking... sick... freak!”

“My my, such a cheeky little kitten,” Vega sighed. He snapped the belt against the floor once again, and Ken nearly jumped at the the sharp crack of hard leather.

“N-no more games, fucker!” Ken wheezed. He tensed his neck, lips peeling back as he spoke in a tight hiss. “I'm gonna kill you! I'm gonna break outta this cell and I'm gonna choke you on your own fucking teeth!”

“You will do nothing of the sort, pretty boy,” Vega chuckled, the madness gleaming in his eyes.

“Wh-what... are you... doing?” Ken gasped as Vega stepped towards the metal hook once again.

Tugging the taut end of the rope for a bit of slack, Vega unwound the figure-eight knot from the hook. For a moment Ken wavered, moaning in relief as he could finally plant his heels on the floor. His knees buckled, and his legs trembled as he bowed forward slightly, gasping and swallowing.

That smile never left Vega's face, the curve of those lips sharp and clean like the cut of a knife. Throwing one loop around the hook for purchase, the matador planted his feet and began to pull once more.

Ken gritted his teeth, nose wrinkling in a snarl as he was raised once again. He knew what it was like now: the feel of the cord around his neck, the pins-and-needles sensation in his cheeks, the hot ache that burned through the bones and joints of his feet. Yet that was little comfort as he was lifted first onto the balls of his feet. and then with the steady pull of that obi around his neck, to the point where the very tips of his toes barely brushed the floor.

For a while he hung: ankles trembling, cold sweat trickling down his back and crawling down his naked thighs. Vega watched as his face went pink and the spittle frothed between his teeth as he wheezed, the cries breaking from his lips in a pitched staccato.

With his heels firmly on the ground, Vega tightened his grip and pulled just one more inch. Slowly, gently, Ken's toes lifted from the concrete. Finally, Vega's prey began to dance.

It started with soft little kicks, bare feet trembling and twitching as the shock froze him. But soon that feeling of being suspended morphed into something much like the sensation of falling, where the body soon realizes with stark horror that it has no control over itself as it hangs in the air. Ken began to thrash with building vigor even as his strength slowly began to wane. Those kicks grew desperate and violent. His sweaty toes splayed, clawing towards the ground as they searched desperately for purchase, finding nothing but air between them.

“ _Wuh! Wuuh!_ ” he mewled.

Vega leaned back once he secured the ropes once more, running his hands over his body. A cold chill ran along his skin, goosebumps pebbling his flesh even as the lustful heat seemed to blister beneath it. His heartbeat quickened, and soon he could feel the hot rhythm pounding in his ears. His long nails drew crackling pink lines along his chest, his breaths hissed between icy teeth as he watched the pretty young stud dance.

“You are very strong, boy...” Vega said, his voice hot and sultry. “How long do you think you can last? An hour? Two, even?”

Ken's eyes were panicked now, staring blindly ahead with a pleading gaze. His toes continued to scratch at empty air, stretching towards the ground. Just an inch between him and the solid floor. Just an inch between him and salvation.

Even the bravest warrior broke at this point, as survival instincts clawed through disciplined calm. It is the nature of the basest creature to seek control. Yet with their wrists bound behind their backs and hanging from their necks, with the simple act of planting one's feet on steady ground rendered impossible, it was quite easy to go mad.

Ken was no exception. He squirmed. He writhed. Tender pleas for release went unspoken, strangled dead by the noose. Long minutes crawled by one by one, and Vega watched with enraptured awe as over time Ken's kicks began to weaken, his struggles waned into reflexive twitchings. Little by little the whimpers grew softer, and that tearful gaze began to dull.

He approached Ken at that point, running a hand along that sweaty flesh. The excitement coursed through him at that touch, as in such a short time this youth had been rendered so docile. It would only be a few minutes more before the lad slipped fully into unconsciousness, and just a big longer before he would never wake again.

“Beg, _gatito..._ ” Vega whispered, “Beg me and I shall show you mercy.”

“Wuuuuh...”

The whine was soft and broken, but it was clear enough for Vega.

Hooking one arm beneath Ken's thigh, Vega lifted the boy by the leg. With some of the pressure against Ken's throat relieved, the matador began to massage his neck with the other hand, easing the circulation back into his brain. Soon the twitches began to strengthen, the hoarse moans returned with a vigor as Ken rolled his head in the slack noose.

“Good kitten...” Vega murmured, “Such a sweet little _gatito_. It wasn't so hard to break you after all, now was it?”

Reaching down with the other hand, Vega unzipped the front of his trousers, pulling his hardened manhood from between the folds. It was slimy with his arousal, and that liquid heat mingled well with the sweat that trickled between Ken's reddened cheeks.

“P-please...” Ken whimpered, body tightening as he felt the slippery flesh sliding against his. “D-don't...”

“Shush, _gatito_...” Vega murmured, “This is what you shall live for now.”

With that, Vega impaled the young American warrior with his member.

A soft whine broke the air as the Spaniard's shaft pierced deep into Ken's body. There had been no preparation: no lotion to ease the entry, no fingers to loosen that snug little hole. Indeed, with only a thin layer of precum to soothe the friction between Vega's cock and Ken's tightness, each thrust was mildly uncomfortable for the Spanish master, as flesh dragged against flesh with a growing heat. Still, it was a good heat. The small discomfort was a fine price for milking the cries from his pet.

“ _Ah! Aaaah!_ ” Ken squealed, as Vega hilted his blade in his body again and again, sending a piercing sear through his asshole with each thrust.

Ken's muscles had turned to water, and much of his resistance had died on the noose as Vega speared him. Yet the strength trickled back into his limbs, and Ken began to squirm. His back arched, tensing against Vega's body. His thigh tensed, pressing on the crook of Vega's arm in an attempt to to pull himself from the fleshy spike that lodged in his guts. Tearful protests spilled from his lips, with promises of money in exchange for release. Vega dismissed every twitch and murmur, ignored the uncouth insult of the bribe, savoring instead the hot desperation that lay beneath those words.

His chest slid against Ken's sweaty back. That milk-pale skin burned with the heat of those welts, and it flared further with the press of Vega's flesh. He nipped gently at Ken's long golden hair, bound into a ponytail by a length of red ribbon. It was soft and well-brushed, and carried the sharp scent of expensive shampoo. Such a sensual mark of his vanity, and such a fine aroma to savor when Vega shamed him with each buck of his hips.

Drop by drop the dew of his arousal began to wet his flesh within that tunnel. As the thrusts smeared that exotic lotion throughout Ken's inner walls, the friction between them melted into a soothing and delicious heat. Vega's steel-cored shaft pierced through Ken's yielding cunt, and those walls parted and squeezed at the mercy of that juicy cock. The pleasure began to spread through them both then, with twitching shudders and bestial grunts, with cruel chuckles and tearful whines.

“It feels good, doesn't it, _mi gatito?_ ” Vega murmured into Ken's ear. “Do not deny yourself, kitten. Focus on it. Embrace it. I give you this chance tonight to feel pleasure.”

“N-no! I... I won't...” Ken gagged.

“Do not lie to me,” Vega hissed. His fingers reached down, tickling the root of Ken's shaft. His cock was plump and twitching, glassy juices trickling from the tip. “Focus on that little nut inside you, the one I slide against even now...”

There was no denying it, the warmth that Vega milked from his pet as his cock slid against his prostate. Ken gagged as Vega lowered him slightly, the noose gently choking him once more. For a little while his struggles renewed, yet so much of his strength had been drained from him, and all that remained was a soft shudder that ran through his body.

Ken was weak as a kitten in Vega's grip. As the world grew fuzzy the pain began to fade, and the tingle of pleasure blooming from his prostate started to overtake his senses. That warrior's urge to resist had been smothered. That martial artist's instinct to fight to the last breath had slipped away. There was only that budding urge to release, that enveloping pleasure that felt like he'd slid into a pool of warm milk.

Ken's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his mouth fell open as a warm, humid breath escaped his lungs. It rattled in his throat as he came. His cock was untouched, but in a hot shudder he spilled his seed onto the concrete in oozing spurts.

Vega drove his member home then, throwing his head back and drinking in the soft little clenches of Ken's flesh as he released. The reflexive spasms of Ken's heat milked the semen from Vega's body, and that tight little ass drank in every drop with eager and hungry suckles.

Ken went limp in Vega's arms then, and the twitches died down almost completely. His eyelids fluttered, a trickle of frothy saliva crawled down the corner of his lip. Vega pulled himself from the warmth of his pet's insides with reluctance... he could've savored that heat for so much longer.

Wiping himself off with a handkerchief, the Spanish nobleman left Ken hanging on the noose, his body swaying side to side gently, toes twitching but otherwise still as he seemed to float on the air. Leaning down to take the knife from the bundle on the floor, Vega strode over to the hook. In one clean slice he cut through the rope, and Ken fell to the concrete with a heavy grunt.

Ken lay curled on the ground as consciousness trickled back into him, and he came to with a whimper. The _obi_ was loose around his neck now, but he could still feel the ache in his guts and the burn of the welts. Drops of Vega's semen left his thighs moist, and the lewd slickness that stained his asshole was a mark of his defilement that couldn't be washed away.

Vega nudged Ken's skull with the tip of his shoe. “Come now, pet,” he said sweetly, in a voice that sounded like poisoned honey. “I know you want to go to sleep, but my good little _gatito_ has to drink his milk first.”

With that, Vega planted his heel on Ken's shoulder and turned him face-down, cheek resting right beside the glistening white puddle on the concrete. With a whimper, Ken obediently began to lick his own semen from the floor.

 

 


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild ending, or Dark ending? You decide! Please comment below as to which one you preferred, and I'll put up a new story soon!

Vega's fingers twined through the kitten's golden hair.

The _gatito_ bobbed his head, suckling his master's flesh eagerly. Those lips had become well-practiced, and that tongue lapped at the underside of Vega's cock. He was thirsty for it. He always was now, yet it was only recently that the bond of trust between master and pet was strong enough to do away with the metal ring-gag to keep the kitten from biting.

Ken teared up as his master came, spurting his milk into the back of his throat. He swallowed eagerly, struggling to breathe through his nose as he took it all in steady gulps. The semen was thick and musky, and clung warmly as it went down. As he breathed he could savor the musk of his master's juices wafting back up his throat.

“Such a good little _gatito_ ,” Vega murmured, patting his kitten's head as he tucked his member into his pants. “It almost makes me wish I could keep you longer.”

Ken bowed. He wouldn't resist today. He'd given up resisting long ago, before Vega taught him the futility of fighting back. He still wore the marks of his discipline: the brands and stitches, the bruises and bandages. By the end he would've done anything to make it stop, if only for a little while.

Ken didn't even flinch when Vega unsheathed the sword. The man had a fondness for blades, whether it was a simple knife, his assassin's claw, or a curved sword.

“Bow your head, _gatito_ ,” Vega murmured as he examined the blade, “And whisper your last words to me, if you have any.”

“Just do it...” Ken murmured quietly, kneeling with his hands bound behind him. “Please... please just release me.”

Vega gripped the end of Ken's golden ponytail, lifting it to bare the young man's neck. He took a moment to admire that milky skin, the taut curves of muscle, the tattoo that branded Ken's flesh as Vega's own. The boy truly had been a pleasure to keep, and a small part of Vega regretted that it had to end. All things must end, preferably in their prime when their beauty was at its peak. A rose snipped from a bush, plump with sap and beading with dew. A bull's ear, cut in a hot flash of the knife as the beast breathed its last.

It was the nature of a _matador_ to take trophies.

Ken's eyes closed and he sighed, tears dripping onto the cold concrete as the blade fell.

 

__________

 

 

**Mild Ending:**

 

A cool breeze gusted along the balcony, and the chill it carried promised a cold night. The marble railing was icy beneath Vega's fingertips. He sighed as he took in the Lleida countryside, the trees red with the depth of autumn. Vega always felt morose at this time of year, when summer's loveliness withered and fell. Soon the last remnants of life would be trampled into a rotting brown mush, and it would be several months before the countryside began to bud with new growth once more.

Lifting the thick bundle of golden hair to his nose, he breathed deep the scent of his _gatito_. It was the sharp scent of an American, well-matched by his once-cocksure attitude. Those blond strands were silky between his fingers, bound as they were in that red ribbon. Vega had to take care so that it wouldn't unfurl of course, and he already had a case for it, one worthy of the main gallery. For now though he savored his new trophy in all its qualities.

In the distance Vega could still see Ken drunkenly stumbling down the road. He was half-naked, wearing only a loose pair of workout shorts, the mud sloshing along his bare ankles. The rest of his clothes had been burned. Vega loathed the fashions of urban American youths, and made a show of it.

Ken had reached for his missing hair as they led him out, still in shock at the experience. There was always something intimate and personal about one's hair, and at first Vega had considered shaving the lad to the skin, a way of stripping him fully of his identity. Yet deliciously cruel as the idea was, the boy was still far too pretty to spoil in such a manner. Besides, Vega had left his mark. The burns and welts would heal, the cuts were clean and the ointments they'd applied ensured they would leave only mild scars. The tattoo at his hip, however, would last forever: the serpent curled around the rose, a brand that proved that for as long as he lived, Ken had once been Vega's property.

Antoni had given him a decent trim before they sent him on his way. Ken looked fairly decent with shoulder-length blond hair, though he was still dazed at finally being released.

Now and again Ken looked back, and gripping his bare shoulders to warm himself he continued onward. It was a full day's walk to the town, and perhaps the townsfolk would help him before he died in the cold. Though it was also likely that the fathers and mothers of those girls he'd seduced would give him a sound beating first, now that he'd been softened up. Catholics were quite protective of their daughters, particularly in this part of Spain.

Vega almost laughed at the thought. With the number of girls he'd supposedly rutted, the boy might have just fled the dungeon only to die to the sticks and stones of commoners. A fine fate for one so crass and uncouth.

Clutching those golden locks in his hand Vega sniffed them once more. Still, it would be nice if they could meet again if he survived, though there was no shortage of young upstarts who wished to prove themselves. Perhaps that Japanese lad, the karate practitioner Ken had squealed for on the rack. By the pictures Vega had found on Ken's cell phone, he certainly had an exotic sort of beauty. Quite stoic for one so fresh-faced and cute.

Mmm. Yes.

“Antoni,” Vega called over his shoulder, and the butler stood to attention. “Find me this Ryu fellow. I do believe the chamber is ready for another guest.”

 

__________

 

 

**Dark Ending:**

 

Vega's nose wrinkled at the sight of this peasant.

His karate-gi was stained with the dust of his travels. His white headband held back a messy mop of hair, burned to a light brown by the sun. Though his Japanese features held a sweet and exotic boyishness, his rustic manner and bare feet were suited more for a villager than one who had the right to approach Vega's manor.

He bowed as he spoke. At least he was polite.

“My name is Ryu,” he said. “I've been told that you were the one last seen with Ken Masters. We're close friends, and I haven't heard from him in weeks. If you have any information on his whereabouts I would appreciate if you could share it.”

“Direct and to the point,” Vega murmured. “I do believe I can help you.”

Ryu seemed slightly self-conscious as he stepped into the manor, the carpet soft beneath his bare feet. Glancing uncomfortably at Antoni, Ryu nonetheless set down his satchel and allowed the butler to take it. Vega beckoned to his guest, leading him down to the main gallery as he spoke. The boy looked around in awe at the columns and pillars, the classical décor of a nobleman.

“Do you know what plastination is?” Vega asked suddenly with a casual smile.

“No,” Ryu said warily, blinking in confusion. “This doesn't have anything to do with Ken, does it?”

“Ah, I apologize. You must understand that I have a deep fondness for art, as you can see,” Vega gestured to the paintings that hung on the walls, and the roses in their vases, “Yet the tragedy of every collector is that beauty is so transient.”

“I suppose I can understand,” Ryu said quietly, “We have much the same observation in Japan, during the season of the cherry blossom when we watch the buds fall.”

“We Europeans are not quite so fatalistic in our aesthetics,” Vega continued to smile. “Some of our most classic pieces are stone sculptures, or oil paintings brushed with egg white. We wish to preserve beauty for posterity, far into the future.”

They stood before a rectangular display case now, waist-high and covered with a white sheet.

“Plastination,” Vega continued, “Is often used for medical specimens. A new technique, where soft tissues are impregnated with wax or plastic. Such pieces can last forever. With the right silicone compounds however it is possible to preserve a sample in all its lifelike qualities, from the color of the flesh to the supple feel of the skin.”

“I- I'm not sure what you are speaking of...”

Taking the corner of the sheet, Vega drew it away.

Ryu's eyes widened. Beneath the glass Ken's head stared back. His lips clutched a black bar gag, his long blond hair curled around the stump of his neck. Those glassy eyes were sad and misty, as if tears could still drip from them at any moment. Indeed, they glistened with the sheen of gel for just such an effect. There was still a pinkness to his cheeks, and a viewer would believe his flesh warm to the touch. Down to the smallest hair and pore he seemed fully alive, but the stillness of his features proved otherwise.

“N-no... oh God no!” Ryu whispered, his hands clutching the glass.

In a flash Antoni wrapped an arm around Ryu's neck and pressed the chloroform-soaked cloth to his mouth.

“Mmph! MMPHHH!”

Ryu struggled and kicked, writhing in Antoni's grip. Though he was a strong fighter, the initial whiff of chloroform had left him weak, and slowly his struggles began to subside. Fingers clutching Antoni's dark sleeve began to loosen, panicked kicks began to grow feeble, and those almond eyes started to mist over. Ryu slumped to the floor with a quiet moan.

The smile never left Vega's face. The boy looked so pretty sprawled on the carpet like that. So vulnerable, like a wounded animal.

“Take this one to the dungeon,” he said in that sultry tone that was soft as death, “We'll start on him tomorrow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my fanon Ken is a super cocky asshole with a frat boy attitude, and he deserves the torture I put him through. OFC I do not approve of this stuff happening to anyone IRL, I just wanna make that clear. This is a kinky fantasy for titillation purposes.


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